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“I don’t remember,” I stammer, but of course I remember. I don’t want Davey to know that they said Luke deserved to die. That his kind shouldn’t be allowed to live. He doesn’t need to know that. “Why are you bringing all this up now?
That’s when I see the suitcase by the door.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap. “Get me to move in and you leave? You’re fucking leaving me?”
His failure to immediately respond does nothing to quell the fear and anger churning in my gut.
“What the fuck is going on? What happened?”
“You were right.”
I wait to hear what, pray tell, I’m so right about. What did I say that is causing him to leave me after… fuck, after everything. I told him I loved him repeatedly. He hasn’t voiced that back to me though, has he? He’s shown me. I can feel it. I thought we were in this together.
“I’ve never dealt with it. Any of it.”
So why the fuck does suddenly realizing that mean he is leaving me! I scream inside my head. My need for him, my yearning for this not to be happening, about to bring me to my knees. Damn you, Davis.
“You may not need to go back to Minnesota, but I do.” With that, he turns to look at me. That is not the answer I expect, and now I’m more confused than ever.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do yet either, but I just know I need to go back.”
“For how long?” It’s the middle of the damn season, so for him to be doing this is huge.
He shakes his head. “A few days, maybe a week…” he shrugs and stands.
“Do you want me to leave? To be gone when you get back… I don’t…” I wish my voice didn’t sound as panicked as I feel. Actually, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t, because the panic I feel is crippling.
He shakes his head again. “No, you’re fine here.”
Fine. That’s not terribly reassuring. Made even less so when he stands up, walks past me and heads for the door. “I can’t be the man you need me to be until I do this.”
“I don’t need you to be anything other than you.”
“I don’t even know who that is at the moment.”
He stands still with his back to me, and I wait again for something, anything, that tells me he’s coming back to me. That when he figures out whatever it is he is going back to Minnesota to figure out, he is coming back to me, dammit.
“God, our feelings for each other are so complicated,” he sighs.
“Are they?” I question. “Our past, our past is complicated, and maybe our feelings about that are complicated. My feelings for you… those are very simple.”
He says nothing to that. Just opens the door, picks up his suitcase and walks out.
The door clicks softly behind him, and I stand, frozen in place. I stare at that door and wait for it to open back up. It doesn’t. I turn and cast my eyes out the windows into the waning evening light and stand in the perfectly decorated, immaculate, cold apartment. Davey’s apartment.
I’ve never dealt with it. Any of it. He said.
I will my brain to unscramble and calm down. He’s coming back. Of course, he’s coming back. What the hell hasn’t he dealt with that we can’t deal with together?
Like lightning, it hits me.
Luke.
We’ve talked about the event. We’ve shared our angst and the different ways that we dealt with—or not—Luke’s suicide and what led to it. In all of that, I forgot a key part of that. For me, it was an event. It was a young gay man committing suicide because of the actions of people I called my friends. It sent a wave of fear through me, and I ran.
For Davey, it was much more.
